Disclosed - Helena Dow

He was the man who slicked down his hair with geland enjoyed the power he held in a place with cold walls,with dank air,with the dead sheep by the fire,and a single light bulb over the bed.

He was the man who had trouble breathing through his nose,who slept with his mouth open,under the cast of a small circle of semidarknessin the quarters of oppressionwith cluttered memos, with a coffee maker beside the soda machine, with a bottle of linctus,and the hide of a rabbit on the tablein the abode with the locked door.

He was the man with a man’s laughand the divine face, created by the last stroke of geniuswho underestimated his inner world,who miscalculated mathematics,who puffed him up with pure science and gave him the go-ahead to blast his prey down the stairwell;his eyes numb and eerieas he played the foul game.

He was the man who wanted it all,who wanted it now, who wanted it then,who wanted it broken.He was the one who did not want to be runner-up.

He was the man who said “too bad” with his tongue licking his lips,with his smileaskew through his wry façade,with a whiff of smut from his mouth in his sluggish voiceand the empty bottle in his hand.

He was the man delivered from evilwho wanted to bewhere he belonged deep inside himself as sworn and not in the airless room,scarred.